What Lies Beneath
by TimeAsunderQ
Summary: WiP, GSR. Set after Inside the Box and along side parts of What Lies Ahead. Can Grissom swallow his pride and help Sara in her time of need? Will he finally make his move or will his stubbornness shut them both down? Chapter 8: Grissom
1. Grissom

**Author's Note:** This is a piece set after **Inside the Box** but before "What Lies Ahead" (a Greg-angst story I posted up here a while back). You don't need to have read Ahead to get Beneath, or vice versa. Chapter one is from Grissom's point of view.

Important:Everything before the line break is thought.

What Lies Beneath

I noticed that she cradled her hand for days afterward. Each time she walked down that hallway she stared at the glass as though it would leap out of the window-wall and chase her down the corridor.

Small things startled her, things that didn't use to. I used to be able to slip up behind her and enjoy the warmth, the aura of ease we shared. She always smiled to herself, knowing I was there. She stopped smiling after the explosion, except for show. Now she jumps and shies away when she feels me close in.

Shortly afterwards, she started looking left and right before walking across the hall. Now that's a bit extreme don't you think?

Sara once told me that she had to have order in her life. I quite understand that, actually. Mental order at any rate... Catherine would never believe that I appreciate a sense of organization, not from looking at my office at least.

Maybe the lab explosion threw her, maybe it broke the rhythm. Blew down the even walls and scattered the piles of order.

Maybe it woke her up.

It certainly woke me up.

If Sara's worst fear is losing control, then my worst fear is losing Sara. Even though I saw her sitting there, hand cut open, face scraped, I felt like I had lost her by the look in her eyes. Some people don't realize that her dark eyes can be so expressive, so full of emotion and beauty...

But I digress. I recognized the stunned look as a textbook example of shock. Once I got her moving she was fine, her hand stitched up quickly by a medic. I wonder if she even remembers that I called her _honey_. At the time I quite surprised myself by letting that slip. I can't help but smile when remembering it though. She looked so... gone, so lost I had to help. Just the simple physical connection between hands was enough to anchor her back to me.

I wonder... If we had _enough_ physical contact, would we be permanently anchored together? Perhaps through experimentation... No, I can't allow that line of thinking. At least, not right now.

While the door is closed and blinds are pulled, my CSIs are notorious for trying to get into my office, leaving that overdue report on my desk, and then trying to pass it off as "Oh Grissom, you just didn't see it on that messy desk of yours!"

Newsflash: I know exactly what's on my desk, kids, I just don't care to deal with it.

Back to Sara. It always comes back to Sara, doesn't it? I can't get her out of my head. Hell, I don't _want_ to get her out of my head. I'd prefer to get her in my bed. Hmmm, head, bed. That rhymes... Oh yeah, back to rhythm.

So a random occurrence breaks the rhythm of her life and now she's washing away. No one's cried "man overboard" but... I might be able to help, if she would let me. A great deal of my trepidation about approaching her has to do with her passive-aggressive nature. She could either be very passive with me (and thereby total wriggle out of the deeper conversation) or very aggressive (bite my head off for trying to offer help). Conversations with Sara are best executed quickly, and with an escape plan already decided upon.

But I still love her. I find it amazing I can think this over and over and over. I love her. I love Sara. Sara Sidle that is. But I can never tell her face to face, because that simple fact could shove her over the edge. She'd either kiss me or kill me. Or kiss me _then_ kill me. I don't think it would work the other way around. Here we stand, on emotional middle ground, a neutral territory filled with longing looks, innuendo, and flirtation.

Well, not any more.

That day altered the dynamic of the lab. Greg's been keeping to himself; Sara's been immersing herself twice as deep in her work. As far as I can tell she's all but stopped eating and sleeping. She's paler than usual, and resembles a waif. I can no longer stand so close to her, for fear of my breath turning her to dust in front of me.

Several times I've found myself at the door of her investigation room, under the pretense of asking about a case. I open my mouth but concern never comes out. I simply spew empty platitudes of "good job" and the ever-popular "nice work on that last case."

Sometimes I really disgust myself.

That's how we got into this situation from the start! Sara really deserves someone better than me, but I can't find it in me to let her go. Possessiveness is one of my major character flaws. I've always believed that, if I had a daughter, I would be one of those fathers that stalked her boyfriends and pulled up their criminal records for cross-referencing. I might even pull some strings with Brass and have an officer assigned to monitor her, undercover of course.

Somehow, it doesn't look like I'm going to have any daughters anytime soon. Or children. Or a wife. I can't stop myself from sighing when I end up thinking "Or Sara." ::sigh:: Damn, I knew that was coming.

But I need Sara. Losing her would be too much for me (or for anyone on nightshift for that matter). I can't lose her.

------------------------------------

"I can't lose her." Grissom said aloud, alarming himself with the sound of his own voice.

It was even more alarming when he realized that if he failed to take action quickly, he could very well lose her. Grissom quickly pushed back his chair and left his office, checking each investigation room until he came across Sara, leaning over a pile of leaves. She looked so frail, a slight ashen-colored woman in a white lab coat and latex gloves. He must have shifted or exhaled loudly because her head jerked up.

"Oh! Hey Grissom... I'm just working on that vegetative evidence we found in the trunk of the car. Several of these leafs have a minimum altitude requirement, so that's helping us narrow down the possible dump locations."

Sara noticed he was staring at her oddly, a look of wonderment on his face, like he hadn't seen her in years. She adjusted her hair behind her ear self-consciously and leaned back a bit, her voice and demeanor both shrinking.

"Grissom... What is it?"

TBC....

Author's Note: What do you think? Please R&R! Chapter 2 will be from Sara's point of view, written in the same internal monologue then external dialogue setup. I might be willing to consider more chapters based on the reviews, if the mechanism is working well. Brass maybe? Or maybe just a longer interaction between good ole Griss 'n Sara...


	2. Sara

**Author's Note:** This is a piece set after **Inside the Box** but before "What Lies Ahead" (a Greg-angst story I posted up here a while back). You don't need to have read Ahead to get Beneath, or vice versa. Chapter two is from Sara's point of view. Each chapter covers the same amount of time. My thanks go to _rokothepas _for the extensive review with suggestions. Chapter three will be Brass :)

Important:Everything before the line break is thought.

What Lies Beneath, pt 2

Leaves. Why leaves? This case is so... predictable. Guy kills girl. Guy panics. Guy puts girl in trunk of car; guy takes girl to some random place and dumps her. A new twist in the age-old tale of botched romance. End of story.

Unfortunately, Grissom doesn't have the courtesy to stab me out right and dump me elsewhere. He just jabs at me here and there, leaving a few nicked and bleeding wounds that I heal on my own volition. Also, he never dumps me, but more or less drags me around like dead weight. I'm not precious enough to him to keep, but not unworthy enough to dump. He's not done with me yet.

It seems like Grissom will never be done with me.

::sigh:: These leaves are ordinary at best. Ooh hey, what's this? Bristlecone Pine? This guy went _way_ up a mountain. I guess I should give him props for effort. Unfortunately, the amount of area covered by the bristlecone is extensive though highly elevated. But that, mixed with the fact there are curlleaf mountain-mahogany and Rocky Mountain ponderosa pine in here as well tells us he was somewhere in a mid-range Montane zone....

Ugh, my hand is shaking again. Stop it! Stop it I say! I can't believe that day screwed me up so much! I can't stop staring at the lab windows, envisioning them blowing outwards in a shower of glass shards. The force of the explosion knocked me over, pinning me down with the intensity of heat.

Maybe it didn't pin me down. I could have gotten up, if I had really tried. I'm pretty sure. I was just too... dazed, stunned to do anything but look at Greg. His face was so full of pain and shock. I just wanted to hold his hand and tell him it would all get better, but I choked, I sat there watching him, until a coworker helped me up and more or less walked me outside to the curb.

I barely noticed my hand... All I could feel was that burning air washing over me, like a hair-dryer turned up too high. It was so swift that I wasn't burned; my skin was just irritated, hopelessly dried out.

That day disrupted me, inside and out. Order is my inner ear, keeping me upright and stable. If, ultimately, I can't control the motions of my life, then what hope do I have? If something so random disrupts my routine so thoroughly, how can I hope to maintain a sense of balance? It was an accident, a freak mishap caused by one count of carelessness and one count of routine. But yet it changed the dynamic of my life, without my permission. I've spiraled off kilter since then, ask anyone (including Brass. I'm sorry Brass.)

Why can't I let it go?

That look on Grissom's face... Oh Griss, when you held my hand the clouds of confusion washed away. I centered myself in you. Only for you to hand me over to a medic. I haven't seen that look of concern since then. Maybe you've forgotten I'm broken, or maybe you just don't care.

Nick tells me I should get some rest. Greg tries to bring me more sustaining vegetarian food, in hopes of getting me to eat. But sleep is a waste of time (according to Leonardo da Vinci... did you know I could quote da Vinci, Grissom?) and food doesn't taste as good now.

It's sort of bland. Now the food has taken on properties of my existence. Everything around here has been shades of gray lately. It's like the whole world went on mute after the... lab incident. What am I supposed to call it? The explosion? The unholy Greg-blast?

Which reminds me, I talked to him the other day, and he reassured me that there was nothing I could do to help him. Oddly, that didn't make me feel too much better, to know that _both_ of us were helpless.

I hate feeling helpless.

That's why I can't stand spousal abuse or rape cases. I know that if I were in the situation, I would have just as little a chance of protecting myself. I know the guys (especially Griss) must think that something happened to me, some time ago, by the way I react, but I can't tell them. Being guys, they'd just pat me on the back and tell me that they'll never let anyone hurt me, or worse tell me that I have a sidearm and I can take care of myself.

Right. I do have a sidearm, yes, but when I try to take some initiative, when I try to use the weapon they gave me, I get reprimanded.

Man, I so had him.

Brass looked like he was going to blow; he seemed to be both angry and terrified at the same time. It's nice to know he's looking out for me but I'm not a little girl, I can take care of myself. I'm well qualified with my 9mm, as is required by the LVPD. Come on...

Admittedly, I never would have done that before, sweeping the room like that. This whole thing is affecting me more than I'd like to acknowledge. My order, my routine, my rhythm... my balance is gone. I'm dancing out of step to an off-beat song. But, dammit, I'm still dancin!

I keep having a mental image of myself as a marionette and Grissom as the puppeteer. The imagery invades my dreams (what few I have when I sleep so little). In some dreams I look up at him beseechingly, asking him to make up his mind. In others he snips the strings and walks away, leaving me there limp and lifeless. In one dream he just looks down on me and smiles, letting the strength of his emotion pour past his barriers and through his blue eyes. I like the third dream the best.

But dreams never come true and I am no puppet. If anything I'm an automaton, programmed only in my daily scheme. Home, shower, work, shower, home, shower, work, shower, lather, rinse, repeat. If I can just keep going, eventually, life will be worth living again. Someday life will be worth living again.

Damn these leaves.

------------------------------------

Sara leaned back and stretched momentarily, yawning widely. She was only getting around an hour or two of sleep a day, which qualified as a catnap in most people's books. Looking around the investigation room only confirmed her impression that her life was now swathed in neutral colors. Refocusing on the task at hand, Sara leaned back over the pile of leaves and started sorting the ponderosa, bristlecone, and mahogany.

She hugged herself in a bit, thankful for the warmth of her white lab coat and latex gloves. A small scruffing noise alerted her to an intruder, and panic mode initiated. Her head jerked up while she fought the urge to go for her gun (Brass would have a field day with that... pulling a gun _inside_ the lab).

Sara exhaled once she saw it was her supervisor leaning on the doorframe. "Oh! Hey Grissom... I'm just working on that vegetative evidence we found in the car. Several of these leaves have a minimum altitude requirement, so that's helping us narrow down the possible dump locations."

Sara noticed he was staring at her oddly, a look of wonderment on his face, like he hadn't seen her in years. She adjusted her hair behind her ear self-consciously and leaned back a bit, her voice and demeanor both shrinking.

"Grissom... What is it?"

TBC....

**Author's Note:** Okay, so it begins and ends in the same place, covering the same amount of time. Next chapter is Brass, then... melee!


	3. Brass

**Author's Note:** This is a piece set after **Inside the Box** but before "What Lies Ahead" (a Greg-angst story I posted up here a while back). You don't need to have read Ahead to get Beneath, or vice versa. Chapter 3 is from Brass's point of view. Each chapter covers the same amount of time. Sorry for the delay!!!

Important: All text before the line break is thoughts.

What Lies Beneath, pt 3

::sigh:: Why am I standing here ordering her a primo-vegeburger when I should be over at Jack in the Box getting a good ole greasy meat burger? Because you care for her you big lug, that's why!

That girl... I would bring her a vegeburger if there was only one place in Vegas that made 'em. I would bring it if Vegas were snowed over during a tornado and an air raid. Sara is just that important.

I wonder why she doesn't see it.

Huh? Oh yeah, right kid, $5.28, sure. Here you go. Stop staring at me! What, you never seen a LVPD detective trying to get a vegeburger??? Okay, fine, I do look like a meat-eater. It's for a friend, sheesh! I hate when people stare at me like they're trying to figure me out. That's my job, dammit, and I do it damn well. Pimple-faced little kid better not turn up in _my_ interrogation room anytime soon, I'll permanently remove that disrespectful smirk.

So here I am, bringing one of my favorite CSIs a vegeburger during the middle of the night. Lucky for me this place stays open so late. Or lucky for her, rather. Or... lucky for both of us 'cause now I have an excuse to go over to the crime lab and check up on her, make sure she eats something and moves around a bit...

Someone's got to keep her healthy and it seems it's gotta be me. Grissom still hasn't come to grips with his feelings for her. Catherine and Sara fight like cats and... well, cats. Warrick is too reserved to really feel for her, and Nick... he doesn't have much sway with her. She'll listen to me (or at least pretend to) while I lecture her on her condition. She wouldn't take that from Nick. She would definitely take the lecture from Grissom (and maybe even act on it), but here we are at the beginning of the circle again.

Oh, my friend, you're great with bugs but awful with women. Anything with less than six legs and you're a disaster. Grissom's even bad with lizards and four-legged things. Fins? Never. I'll bet that fish I got him didn't even last the week. Thank goodness that Komodo is on back-order (permanently if I can help it). The dragon doesn't deserve to die such an unpleasant death.

Wow... alliteration. I'm good. I'm also driving through Las Vegas without thinking about where I'm going. That's bad.

So Sara. And Grissom. Taken apart, they're two good friends. Put together and they're an unpredictable mix. Like water and oil they're best kept separate. Maybe they're more like... gasoline and napalm. All it takes is a spark and... damn, nevermind, that was a bad analogy.

Thing is, they could be so good for each other if she would stop trying so hard and he would loosen up.

Unfortunately she _has_ stopped trying, ever since the explosion at the lab. Sara's been on hold since then, which is exactly why I'm taking her a damn vegeburger. I figure, while she's eating maybe she'll lighten up enough to tell me what's going through that pretty head of hers. She seems to have lost all interest in Grissom, in food, and in sleep. The last two she's really never had much of a regard for, but the first... something's definitely up.

I'll bet $100 to Warrick that Grissom hasn't noticed a thing about the "new" Sara. I'd wager that he's sitting his office blissfully unaware that his loyal pet has stopped caring about anything but work, if she even really cares about that.

I have to get past him. I have to talk to Sara alone, Grissomless, or I'll never get anything out of her. How to do that...

I'll tell him it's official case business. That leaf case she was workin on, that body dump. No, wait, he'll probably quiz me on why I've got a take-out box in my hands.

Maybe I could leave it at the front desk, then come back for it, circle around the hallway, and then back to Sara. But I don't know where Sara is... What if I run into him again while I'm looking for her?

Ha! I'll page Sara as soon as I get to the parking lot. She can tell me where she is exactly, and I can go in from the closest entrance. I'll park a distance away so I won't see Grissom should he happen to be leaving at the same time I'm entering. My cunning is finally paying off.

::pause:: Traffic's a pain even at this time of night. Sometimes I wish I could (legally) use the undercover siren and clear the streets out a bit...

------------------------------------

Brass surprised himself, his own gruff voice calling out pleadingly in the emptiness of his car. "I'm almost there Sara, almost there..."

TBC....

Author's Note: Pardon the abrupt ending but this is a transitional chapter. I'm setting myself up for the long run (hehehe). The next chapter is GS interaction, then in chapter 5 our hero Brass comes in :)


	4. GS

**Author's Note:** Okay, Chapter 4 is now G/S interaction, 3rd person, but some thoughts are mixed in. The first part is an overlap from parts 1 and 2, a recap of sorts.

Important:  Thoughts are in italics.

What Lies Beneath, pt 4

Sara noticed he was staring at her oddly, a look of wonderment on his face, like he hadn't seen her in years. She adjusted her hair behind her ear self-consciously and leaned back a bit, her voice and demeanor both shrinking.

"Grissom... What is it?"

He moved forward, taking halting steps towards her. "Oh... nothing really, I was just wondering how you were doing." Grissom inhaled quickly and tumbled on, determined to help her. "You really don't look so well... You're very pale."

Sara laughed shallowly. "Griss, I've always been pale. It's genetics. Plus I sleep during the day, like a vampire. Doesn't do well for the skin you know?" _Play it off, play it off, play it off..._

His head shifted to the side. "Do you?" he asked.

_Shit. _"Do I what?"

Grissom leaned against the edge of the table, placing his palm flat on its surface for balance and support. _The next few lines are pivotal. If I can broach the subject carefully, she might open up to me. If not, I may lose her forever._

He answered her question abruptly. "Sleep during the day. You've worked doubles every day for... well since..." Grissom changed directions rapidly, mentally cursing while trying again. "I checked the schedule and the numbers don't add up Sara. You've been working more time than you're documenting."

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "I only get so many hours overtime. I can only bill—"

Holding up his free hand to silence her, Grissom cut in. "No, you can only **work** that many hours. Maximum overtime is a way of getting people out of the lab, not limiting their pay." _Please Sara, please understand me._

Sara tore away from their conflict, recoiling as though the whole situation were poisonous. When she spoke again she spat her words out harshly. "Is that why you came, to lecture me on overtime? To remind me that I have no life?"

His mouth gaped open. Yet again he had allowed their interaction to degrade into argument. After hearing that retort, Grissom shut down.

Sara almost cried, watching the mask of detachment fall over her beloved's face. Her mind started to race.

_Why? Why did I have to say that? Stupid, Sara, so stupid, you've pushed him away again, no wonder he doesn't come to you anymore when he's met with such resistance! God, Sara, you've done it again and now it's over. IT IS OVER._

There was a moment of peace in the room as Sara berated herself, and Grissom settled into comfortable objectivity.

_I was wrong to come here. I've already lost her, on the inside. I thought she hated herself, but I think she may actually hate me more. Good. As long as she has that hate she has something to bind her to this place. Is that sick, enjoying her discomfort, savoring the fact that she can't leave... won't leave...? Maybe, but Sara's got to reap what she's sown. _

When he spoke again it was with such even dispassion that chills ran down Sara's back. She hugged her lab coat to her, retreating into its protective shell.

"Sara, I never meant to lecture you. I was merely expressing my concern, which I've discovered was entirely unfounded. Please try to refrain from double shifts for the rest of the month. Consider that a direct order from your supervisor. I expect you to be out of here at 7 AM sharp. Understood?"

His tone brooked no argument. "Yes sir. 7 AM sharp."

Grissom pivoted and strode quickly from the room; Sara knew she had to stop the cycle now. _If I don't, we could go on like this forever, until death do us part._

"Grissom!" He stopped at the doorway but didn't turn around. She decided to go for broke. Steeling herself against the worktable, Sara gazed aimlessly at the multicolor leaves on it. "I'm... sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. Ever since... that day, I can't get around it, you know? I just don't like being treated like a child and when you were telling me how pale I am it just felt condescending. Like you think I can't take care of myself. But I didn't mean—"  She looked up at him.

_I have to make this clean. A clean break, painful but quick. _That cold voice returned. "Sara. Save it. **If** you **can** take care of yourself, then do it and I won't have to..."

Her voice reduced to a pained whisper. "...Ok..."

_Painful but quick..._ Grissom made an efficient escape, keeping his pace steady and ignoring the fading glow of her eyes on his back. He could always feel her presence, like a sixth sense. No matter how much he had avoided her in their years at the Las Vegas lab (and even in their time before), he could never get rid of that. Truthfully, deep down, he had never really wanted to.

_Until death do us part..._ Sara continued staring at the retreating form of Grissom long after he had turned left onto a cross-hallway. Her eyes lingered there semi-focused from the haze of pain.

Sara calmly cleaned up the leaves, placing them back into their zippered containers. Once she was done and the work table was completely cleared, Sara deflated, her head collapsing into her hands. Her slender hands started to tremble again, the onslaught of frustration and anguish causing her to shake as the beginnings of nausea welled deep in her stomach. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes but none were brave enough to fall.

_What have I done? Now there's nothing left. Nothing left. Nothing._

TBC...

Author's Note: I've pretty much finished planning out all the chapters. I apologize for those who'd prefer mush but, you know, what are the odds of it resolving painlessly that quickly? Really... You just have to give it time... Stick with me here :)


	5. Brass & Sara

**Author's Note:** Okay, Chapter 5 is Brass/Sara interaction, 3rd person with thoughts mixed in. As always, please R&R.

Important:Thoughts are in italics.

What Lies Beneath, pt 5

Brass sat at the wheel of his car and pondered. The moon was full, lighting up the night sky, and he found his gaze drawn to it. _Should I call her? Or just go in...?_

Fidgety hands skimmed over his cell phone. _Aw hell._ He started dialing the familiar number. After about six rings, Brass scowled and pulled the phone away from his ear, his thumb moving for the disconnect button, but a soft voice stopped him.

"Hello?"

He quickly recovered from his surprise and put the phone back to his ear. "Sara, honey, are you there? Where are you?" _She sounds so small._

"I'm at the lab."

"Me too, tell me where you are **inside** the lab, girl." _I wonder what's wrong... What's happened now?_

Sara actually had to look around the room to remember her exact location. "Oh... uh... sniff I'm in Investigation Room 3. You know, with the leaf case and all..."

Brass was unlocking the door and grabbing her take-out at the same time. "You don't sound like you're having a good time honey, I'll be there in a second. Just... hold on." He leapt out of his car the moment he disconnected, tucking his cell phone in his pocket while thumbing the car-alarm button.

Sara hung up, tossing her cell phone onto the table and straightening up on the stool. She quickly wiped the last remaining tears out of her eyes and hoped she look not-so-pathetic as she felt.

Thankfully room 3 was a fair enough distance off in the corner of the lab that not many people walked by and far less had the nerve to look in. Still, she cursed the designer who made all the rooms at the crime lab glass-walled. She felt like an insect under a microscope. _Huh. Wonder where that analogy came from..._ she thought bitterly. Even though he had completely spurned her, Sara's mind returned to him subconsciously.

She decided to explore variations on the theme. _Maybe I'm a flying insect, somewhere between a moth and a butterfly. I'm not ugly and tough enough to definitely be a moth, nor do I have the astounding beauty of a butterfly. So he has chloroformed me and stuck me under his microscope to have a better look. Figures that he could never let me go. I'd fly away..._

_Maybe I should._

Brass hustled down the hallways until he found his destination, bursting through the door with unmistakable-square-white-box in hand. "Hiya Sara! I brought you something!"

She found herself rolling her eyes at his energetic demeanor (despite the fact that she was honestly hungry). "What is it?"

"Only your favorite vegeburger covered in your favorite toppings from your favorite vegeburger establishment!"

Sara's jaw dropped and she jumped off the stool. "A hefty-veggie on wheat with tomatoes and pickles and cheese from Sandoval's?" She gave Brass an air-hug around the box, careful not to knock it out of his hands. "Sweet!"

_Something is suspicious here._ Brass cleared his throat while pulling the box away from her grabbing hands. "Sara, honey, you sounded dead a few seconds ago, and then you perked up like a chihuahua. What's up?"

"I really like those burgers. You know that," she replied offhandedly.

"Yeah but, not that much." He looked at her, honestly _looked_ at her and knew a turning point had been reached. Her body language screamed of controlled defeat. Her eyes were darting everywhere but to his; she knew he'd know as soon as their eyes met. Worst of all, her hands were shaking again, and she fidgeted with them. Finally she resorted to clasping them behind her back and stamping her foot impatiently. "Tell me what happened..."

With his free hand, Brass herded Sara back to the work table, taking a stool on the opposite side and sitting down the vegeburger where she couldn't reach it. No more excuses or distractions, it was time for the truth.

Sara took a deep, shaky breath. "Grissom came by earlier."

Brass found that (in and of itself) not enough of a reason for her to be this upset but, knowing his friend, Grissom's visit could have easily degenerated into a brawl. "What did he say?"

She restlessly rubbed her trembling hands together. "Oh... he said this and that... He told me I was pale, that I was working too much and that I wasn't allowed to work any more overtime. He also questioned whether or not I was sleeping. Then... I snapped at him. I said some pretty mean things." Tears welled up in her eyes. "I pushed him away!" Her head slipped down into her hands again and she fought to keep talking. "I tried to make it better but he was gone!"

Brass looked at the door sharply. "He walked out on you?"

"No, his eyes... They closed up again and I couldn't reach him." She knew what had happened but found it frustratingly hard to relate without losing her calm control.

(He decided to take that last statement at face value). "Oh... So what happened then?"

She sniffled and put on her best Grissom-voice. "He said that '**if** I **can** take care of myself I should, so he wouldn't have to'!" That was the last she could get out, though, before she broke into bawling.

He let her cry. He knew that she needed this, a good cathartic cry where someone would be there to hold her when she was done. When her heaving sobs stopped, Sara felt Brass's large hand on her forearm, rubbing gently in soothing motions.

"Th... Thank you."

He gave her his winning smile. "No problem Sara. I'm here for you whenever, you know? Whenever you need someone to talk to, or whenever you need a shoulder to cry on. I got you, babe."

That at least made her smirk, enough to let him know he'd gotten through to her. "So, in a nutshell, Grissom came here concerned, got a bit pushy, you pushed back, he closed off, you tried to reconcile, he wouldn't have it, he sniped back at you, then left. Have my amazingly impeccable detective skills got that right?"

"In a nutshell, yes. I really screwed this up this time Brass. I don't think..." She trailed off deep in thought.

Another hand joined the first, grasping her arms, then her hands. "What, hon?"

At last she looked him straight in the eyes, sharing complete honesty. "I don't think I can go on like this Brass. I need to fly away. Gotta get out of this glass-walled microscope. It's a petri dish really, that's all it is." He felt her pain and he knew she wasn't just blowing off steam. That's what scared him about the situation. It truly was now or never.

Brass's voice seemed alien to his own ears, gruff with both anger and sadness for his two friends. "Hold on Sara. I'm going to go talk to that S.o.B. and put him in his place." His grip tightened when she moved to protest. "No question, this has to end now. If it doesn't end well, then you can blame me. I'll help you relocate to some place... healthier. I won't have you waste away in front of me. Don't try to stop me, girl, cause I'm doing this for your own good. I love you Sara, I can't see you getting hurt like this forever. Pretty soon you'd hurt yourself if you thought it'd get you out of the position you're in." His voice broke on the last sentence and Brass looked away, roughly pawing at "something in his eye."

_Daring move, daring move Brass you old dog! You did it! You finally said it! ... Now why does my heart ache so bad?_

Another train of thought blazed on beside his.

_He's right. I'm verging on ... the unthinkable. That'd get Grissom wouldn't it? My note would say "Ha, you left me and I died, doesn't this make you feel bad?" or something to that effect. Make him eat his words. Make him kiss my ass. All in the same breath._

Sara nodded without thinking. "Okay Brass. Go for it, if that's what you want to do. But, if this doesn't work out, I'm going to need you more than ever."

"Understood. Eat your vegeburger, girl, it's getting cold." He pushed the box towards her and stalked off, following the same path down the corridor as the last person to exit the room. Yet again she let her eyes follow his back, unbidden, resting her tattered hopes on his broad shoulders.

As he disappeared round that same corner, Sara focused on the white box in front of her. Sniffing its contents with disdain, she nudged it away from her, no longer hungry.

TBC...

**Author's Note:** Moving towards resolution! Will Brass talk Grissom into being not-so-grumpy? Will Brass just punch that mug out? Will Brass just holler at Grissom and take Sara with him? Read Chapter 6 to find out!!!!! (hehehe) Please R&R!


	6. Brass vs Grissom

**Author's Note:** Okay, Chapter 6 is Brass vs. Grissom (interaction), 3rd person with thoughts mixed in. As always, please R&R.

Important: Sentences in italics are thoughts.

What Lies Beneath, pt 6

Hurricane Brass rapidly approached the office of one, Gil Grissom. Currently a Category 5, he blew into town before any evacuation procedures could be implemented. All residents were thoroughly surprised.

"Jim…" Grissom looked up sharply from his paperwork.

Brass tempered both his expression and his voice. "Don't you say a word Gil, you listen to me right now. Listen well."

Grissom adjusted his glasses, lowering them down his nose a bit to give him the 'authoritative scientist' look. "I'm listening."

"I just came from talking to Sara," Brass started, watching the shadow of pain the mention of her name brought him. "What you did was just plain wrong. So she snapped at you! You know she's upset, that she has been upset since the lab blew up. She feels vulnerable and alone and she thinks that working is the only thing she can do to make a difference around here. I know that you tried to show your concern but as soon as it went bad, as soon as there was a misunderstanding, you bottled up again. And this time, when you bottled up, you killed her dammit. You might as well have pulled the trigger!" He slammed his hand down on Grissom's desk, sending papers (along with himself) flying over the edge.

Brass could see his friend's wheels turning. He could see the light bulb flickering to life over his head.

"You told her that if she could take care of herself, she should, so that you wouldn't have to. Dammit Grissom, she **needs** you to take care of her, now more than ever, and you've just told her that her need is her weakness! She needs **you**. Ultimately, you're the only person she would truly let in. I would care for her till the day I died, but I would never be The Great Grissom." He gesticulated madly, grimacing. "Now all she can think about is that her Grissom doesn't want to take care of her. Her Great Grissom knows she needs help and he is cold, disgusted by that need."

The carefully maintained mask had shattered through the course of the monologue. Brass wore the rage of the bull, his verbal ferocity punctuated by stamping of feet and pounding of fists. Grissom was overshadowed by a great cloud. He wore the dark element like a cloak around his shoulders, the shocking weight of Brass's words pinning him down.

_I'm not cold. If I was cold, it wouldn't hurt this bad, would it?_ "I'm only disgusted by myself Jim. You know that. You know how I work, obviously." Grissom snorted, surprised that this had gone so far. He felt almost betrayed knowing that Sara had turned Brass, one of his oldest friends, against him. He wanted to stab at him, knowing that Brass had challenged him despite their mutual understanding of the situation.

Brass sat down heavily in the spare chair, his rage gone, replaced by regretful sadness. The wooden chair creaked heavily as he forced it to support him fully. "Yeah Gil, I know how you work. That's why, for your sake and hers, I had to intervene. You are sick with yourself. You think you broke it off for her good, 'cause you keep thinking that she deserves better, but you better wise up soon. You better straighten up or she'll leave you forever. Leave everyone and everything, for that matter. Right now it's you or nothing and I **do mean nothing**. I don't think you really understand that."

Grissom looked up bleakly, idly toying with his Newton's cradle, now uncovered by Brass's rampage. "Understand what? That Sara would contemplate death because, without me, she feels she has nothing left? It's unthinkable. It's beyond comprehension. What could I possibly… What could she see in me?" His quizzical expression proved that he actually didn't know.

Brass leaned forward, frustrated. "Why do you bother analyzing? What will that get you? You two have been flirting and dancing around for years. Years! Just… get it over with dammit, and let's move on!" Brass shook his head slowly and lowered his voice back to normal. "Let's review. Boy meets girl. Boy clams up, runs away. Girl chases after, giving up everything for Boy. Boy acts like an ass, Girl forgives. How much is it gonna take to get you two to the happily-ever-after part of the story?" One corner of his mouth quirked up to lighten the blow. _Please Griss, help me out here. All it takes is some optimism, some selfless spontaneity on your part… _

"At this point… a lot." A heavy silence ensued, punctuated by the tick-tick-tick of the Newton's spheres. "I've really messed this up, haven't I?"

"Oh yeah. Definitely. Thing is, you're a scientist. You analyze. You can't understand that the variables are different, they don't add up. In life… nothing really adds up. In life, you **can** get something for nothing. It's called love. That's the equation you can never solve predictably or repeat-ably. There is no structured experiment; there is no control group, not even a basis for comparison."

Grissom set the cradle in motion again. "Jim… I love her. I know it."

A whole spectrum of emotions ran past Brass's face, though he settled on frustration. "Then what's the problem?"

"Me." The frustration was a good choice. "Look at me. I'm a middle-aged man, years her senior. I'm a graying scientist with no life. My best friends are bugs. I'm—"

"You're wallowing in self-pity is what you are. You think she doesn't know all that stuff? She knows! Miraculously, she still loves you on top of all that. What more could you possibly ask of her? While you're in here with your self-pity, she's up to her neck in desperation. Now **you** tell **me**. What is the right thing to do?" Brass waved off Grissom's attempt to explain.

"No, not right now, later, after you've thought on it a while." He paused. "In fact, tell her. When you figure out the right thing, do it and you'll soon know if it's right or not."

Grissom made one last soft jab at his friend, honestly curious about the source of his expertise. "Jim… If you're so wise about relationships, then uh, how did your marriage…?" He trailed off. _What am I supposed to say? How did your marriage shatter in a thousand pieces? How did your marriage implode, leaving you all the way across the continent from your wife and child?_

"Oh, how'd it go down the drain? It was a long spiral and, when I thought I'd found 'the right thing to do', I found out it was wrong. Very wrong. Where do you think I got all this personal insight from, my friend?" He shifted in the chair nervously, watching the silver spheres endlessly impact each other. "Only one who's been through that hell can help someone else around it. Don't lose Sara like I lost my wife and daughter. Know that she is worth fighting the world for. I know you fear losing yourself but that's part of love, the combining of two souls. You can't combine if you won't give any part of yourself up to the mixture. She's feeling that aching hole where you should be."

Piercing blue eyes settled on his brown. "The same aching hole you feel where your wife and Ellie should be?"

_Oh God, Gil, that hurt. _Brass cleared his throat and steadied his voice, ignoring the sharp pang around his heart. "Yes. I feel it everyday. Don't you dare force that pain on her."

The Newton's cradle stopped suddenly, the inertia no longer enough to force the opposite sphere into motion. The resulting stillness filled with conflicting emotions. The air was thick with hopes and fears.

After a minute or so, the detective stood up and straightened his jacket, taking ginger steps towards the door. "I'll leave you to think. You've got all shift. I'll give you the same ultimatum you gave her. By 7 AM you have an answer or, so help me, I'll take her away from you so that she doesn't have to make that choice herself."

_No! You can't take her from me!!! _ His grip on the arms of his chair tightened till his knuckles turned white. "Ok. Thank you, Jim. Thank you for your concern and your… candor."

"Hey, don't mention it. I'm from Jersey, we can be brutal sometimes." _And so can you Gil, when threatened._

With that he was gone, closing the door gently behind him and leaving his best friend to his demons. Both of them felt a twinge of loss, knowing their friendship had been knocked down a few notches by their mutual jabs.

Brass walked back past Investigation Room 3. Sara was no longer there and neither were the bags of evidence. He checked the room, but she left no note. Taking this as a sign that she didn't want any more company, he went back to his car and climbed inside.

The crestfallen detective roughly turned the key, snatching the car into gear and tearing off, pawing at the tears in the corners of his eye. Despite his excellent investigative skills, he couldn't tell how this case would turn out, and that scared him. The last time he'd felt like this was… when Ellie… He stuffed down the panic and pain-filled memory.

One way, he would lose his best friend. The other way, he would lose the girl he'd cared for. Brass cursed through gritted teeth, weaving through traffic to respond to a call.

_Dammit. Either way, I lose. I always do._

TBC…

**Author's Note:** Hmmm… ::checks notebook:: Yes, according to my systems analysis notebook, we are right on schedule! Check back for Chappy 7 and leave me reviews pleez :) Chapter 7 is like intermission. We're halfway there!


	7. Interlude

**Author's Note:** Okay, Chapter 7 is an intermission of sorts from the angst of GSR. AKA: What has been happening in the real world as Sara, Grissom, and Brass have been going at each others' throats? As always, please R&R.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CSI or any of its characters. Don't sue me. But if you do own CSI, please drop me a line cause that's pretty awesome that you're reading this!

Important:All thoughts are in italics.

What Lies Beneath, pt 7

The night passed in stunned silence. Brass stayed behind the front lines inconspicuously, leaving the meat of the work to other detectives. Warrick and Nick were assigned to the scene he had just left, and he only stayed long enough to relay the pertinent information. Once they began clearing, he split back to his office.

Catherine noted Grissom's definite absence (and subsequent weak excuse) from her performance meeting. She would have asked questions, but he looked like the proverbial kicked puppy. Putting two and two together to get five square root of three, she dropped the subject quickly and closed the door. Let him wrestle with his demons behind closed doors. Catherine was a close enough friend to know that he savored his privacy. Walking by an hour later she heard the strains of Mozart leaking through the doorframe and smirked.

One thing everyone noticed (but only Greg felt obliged to point out) was the lack of Sara. She passed through the hallways with ghostly quiet. While checking on her DB, Dr. Robbins made the comment that if she turned sideways she'd blow away in the wind. David hesitantly touched her arm and suggested she go home and get some rest, smiling to show his honest concern. She responded warmly, reassuring him that, come 7 AM, she planned on doing just that.

End of shift loomed closer and closer and the loose ends of time frayed farther apart. Sara wandered through well-known streets watching her people of the glass-walls. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was waiting for something. A vision, a sign, an explosion (she laughed at that thought).

_Maybe I'm waiting for the white knight on a handsome steed? Who will it be? Captain Brass in gleaming dress uniform, medals shining? Or Dr. Grissom in brilliant full armor?_ She had to admit the visuals were quite amusing, trying to imagine both of them entering the crime lab on horses.

Elsewhere in the lab sat a morose Dr. Grissom, definitely out-of-armor. Nothing shone about him at the moment and it felt like the universe around him was sapped of color and polish. He caused a dull and grey void wherever he went. Currently, a more appropriate steed for him would be the saddest donkey in Mexico.

The dull grey void rolled up into the break room at approximately 5 AM, attempting to stave off the end-of-shift stretch. He grimaced distastefully at the Hawaiian coffee, the only coffee they had, courtesy of one Greg Sanders. Personally, he enjoyed French vanilla, or just plain Folgers. Nothing exotic.

_So I am dull as hell. Another reason…_ He cut himself off before that train of thought could leave the station. That train had a nasty habit of derailing halfway to its destination and the break room did not need a 50 car pile-up to deal with.

Out of the corner of his mind, Grissom felt Sara enter the proximity. He leaned back in the chair, flattening himself out in hopes of not being seen. Judging by her relaxed state, she had not yet spotted him. But he had noted her, and began watching her approach. He scrutinized how she walked, how she swung her arms by her sides, the pace of her gait, the angle of her head, the crook of her neck, the bow in her slumping shoulders. Every variable was stored for later examination.

He realized he had done this every day for four years, examining her and storing her for later.

_Even entomological specimens decay over time. Every specimen has a maximum useful lifetime. Have I waited too long?_

He watched her with the ease of a predator sizing up its prey. His stillness allowed him a great advantage over his nimble quarry.

Sara walked into the break room, also frowning once she reached the coffee pot. But she tipped the last of its contents into a mug anyway. She sat down the mug and turned for the sugar and creamer, freezing when she caught sight of motion. A figure in the corner of the room. Her eyes flew up; panic initiated as she backed away. _Oh. Grissom._

_She's afraid? Of me?_ A more worrying thought appeared. _Of everything… the unknown. Her balance is off._

Sara wordlessly added (what looked like) a pound of sugar to her coffee, then a steady stream of creamer. Grabbing the mug, the prey retreated, facing the predator and keeping her vulnerable side away from him.

All that time their eyes stayed locked on one another, waging a silent war of domination. Remorse battled fear which fought anger. In the end, Grissom never moved and Sara never spoke.

_So much for progress_, they both thought as the distance between them increased steadily. Grissom found himself missing the warmth her presence brought. Sara, on the other hand, fought the warmth she felt when he looked at her that way. Predatorily, territorially, like she was an object.

_I have to let him make his move. I have to leave him alone._ Sara passed Nick in a daze.

"Hey, Sara! What… What's up?" He grabbed her arm to stop her from walking past him.

"Oh nothing much Nick, just finishing up that leaf case. We nabbed the guy a few hours ago. Vegetative evidence was 100 proof. All I've got left is the write-up."

He still held her firmly, looking into her eyes beseechingly. "No, I mean, what's up… beyond that."

Sara drug him into a side storage room, lowered her voice and spoke quickly. "Not a word of this to anyone Nicky. Grissom and I are working out a solution. This could be the beginning of the end if… Well, you know. Just know that… I'll miss you."

Nick's eyes widened. "Sara, don't do anything rash here, I mean, if you need somebody to talk to or someplace to stay, I'm always open girl. You know I care. If things go wrong… Give me a call. Don't go disappearing. Or worse." He pulled her into a light hug, squeezing her gently as though she would shatter. "If things go wrong, please let me help. I know it won't be the same, but other people really care for you girl, let us help."

She nodded and smiled, tightening her arms around him briefly. "Thanks Nick. I will." With that she flitted away seeking some place to sit and think everything out. Nick cared. Brass cared.

She decided to stop by the lab and check on her secondary case. Her primary leaf case finished, she was back to her secondary. Her mind had been so strung out since the explosion and now, since Grissom, that she had almost forgotten about the Trudale kidnapping case. Sara stepped lightly into the lab but Greg heard her coming.

"Your DNA sample came back; negative match to Simon Trudale but he shares seven alleles." Greg dangled the results in front of her, waving them enticingly.

Sara hissed as she snatched the paper from him. "Brother. So it was Jeffrey Trudale. His alibi seemed pretty strong but… who can ever tell," she shrugged.

There was a long pause as Sara drifted off into her own thoughts, eyes unfocusing on her surroundings. Greg shifted away, moving back to his work but her voice stopped him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

_It's now or never. I've thought about this for weeks but only tonight… it may be the last chance I get to ask him._ "Do you ever… you know… think of that day?"

When Greg looked up Sara was cradling her hand in her lap. A flurry of emotions crossed his face, stopping at empathy. "Of course. All the time." His expression turned distasteful, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

She exhaled slowly and continued, speaking in a confessional tone. "I just can't seem to forget about it Greg. It's like every time I walk past that window, it shatters all over again. I keep seeing you—" Her breath hitched and she stopped for a moment, swallowing convulsively. "I keep seeing you laying there so helpless." Her head and voice both dropped. "I should have helped you." _There. I've said it now. Now it's all out there. I wonder how much he blames me. I wonder…_

Motion interrupted her self-deprecating thoughts and she saw Greg spin to look at her. "Sara? You thought you could help me? I had just been blown straight through a glass window, felt the flames licking my ass and you seriously thought you could help me? No girl, the EMTs had to scrape me off the floor. There was nothing you could have done."

He smashed his hands down on the table, startling Sara. Any noise, any motion set her on edge. The explosion robbed her of her defenses. _And my common sense_, she thought, reprimanding herself for the millionth time for being so jumpy. She held her hands tight and found her gaze drawn to Greg's own hands, which were shaking in time with hers. _So. We were both affected more than we'd like to admit_.

Sara looked up and smiled falsely, trying to reassure them both. "Flames licking your ass huh?"

Greg's old mischievous grin returned. "Yeah, I finally got some action. Real hot action. Too bad it was over so quick!"

Taking one last deep breath, Sara stood up and approached Greg from behind. Putting her hands on his shoulders she leaned over to look at his face. "Greg? Thanks. Thanks for this. You really, ummm… Well Griss wasn't the best person to…" _And I had to know, if it was just me, or if it hurt you too. If it was my fault. I can begin again now, with nothing left to lose. If it comes to that._

He laid his hands over hers, noting that they were still. "S'ok Sara. I definitely understand."

She gently pulled her hands from his and walked to the door, hanging on the doorframe like normal. The look on Sara's face was unreadable to Greg when they locked eyes once again. "Yeah. You do understand Greg. You're good at understanding…."

_Thank you my friend, for giving me what I need to start from scratch._

Yet again she slipped away, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. For weeks, she feared that Greg blamed her for not helping. The look in his eyes that day… burned itself into her soul. Fear, pain, helplessness combined into one look of anguish that she read as an accusation of fault.

_I misread. Thank goodness, I misread._

Sara checked the clock on her way back to the evidence vault. 6:49 AM. She promised Grissom that she would be out of there by 7 AM. Sighing, she walked past the evidence vault to the sign-in/sign-out board. There she signed herself out, glaring at the curious stares of the front desk people as she exited towards her car.

_See? I can leave on time._

Once in her car, Sara checked the time again. 6:54 AM. Cranking it, she backed out slowly and drove home on autopilot. What she failed to notice was Grissom tearing out of the building just as she turned onto the main road. In her stupor, she also didn't see him jump into his SUV and pull out mere minutes after her. By the time she got to her home Grissom had given up and stopped trailing her to return to his townhouse.

--------------------------------------------------

**At Sara's place…**

Sara jumped out of her car and ran up the steps, flinging open the door and throwing down her keys. She leapt onto her bed and stretched, determined to get some sleep. Well, more determined to prove Grissom wrong, any way she could.

_I'll show him that I can take care of myself. And… if I fail, I still have Brass and Nick and Greg. I still have San Francisco. I still have my mom and brother._

She closed her eyes and curled up, hugging her knees to her.

_I'll still have me…_

**At Grissom's place…**

Grissom pulled his SUV into his parking pad and slowly rolled out of the driver's seat. He trudged up the stairs and unlocked the door, laying his briefcase down on the kitchen table. Moving to the stereo, he turned on Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon. He listened to Speak to Me, halfway interested, but really tuned in to Breathe. He grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, kicked off his shoes, and sprawled out on the couch, watching the equalizer on his stereo bounce up and down to the frequency of the music. Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes and ran through the lyrics alongside Roger Waters.

Breathe, breathe in the air.  
Don't be afraid to care.  
Leave but don't leave me.  
Look around and choose your own ground.

Long you live and high you fly  
And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry  
And all you touch and all you see  
Is all your life will ever be.

Run, rabbit run.   
Dig that hole, forget the sun,  
And when at last the work is done  
Don't sit down it's time to dig another one.

For long you live and high you fly  
But only if you ride the tide  
And balanced on the biggest wave  
You race towards an early grave.

At 7 AM, Grissom laid there, sipping water on the couch, wondering how many times he had forgotten the sun.

_And all I touch and all I see is all my life will ever be? I've touched so little… How many holes have I dug?_ He looked over at his cell phone, resting on the coffee table.

_Is it really time to dig another one?_

**Author's Note:** Ah, here we are, perfectly set up for chapter 8. We've come full circle my friends. Back to first person.


	8. Grissom

**Author's Note:** Okay, Chapter 8 is Grissom's first person thought narrative. As always, please R&R. Sorry it's been a long time coming, the end of the semester was terrible! I've finally gotten situated in this new semester and now I've finally got time to sit down and start writing again.

Important: All text before the line break is thought.

What Lies Beneath, pt 8

What was I thinking?

I waited five minutes too late, now here I am, at home with nothing else on my mind except Jim's final warning.

"By 7 AM you have an answer or, so help me, I'll take her away from you so that she doesn't have to make that choice herself."

My God. What was I thinking?

My cell phone is just out of my reach, much like her. I wonder if Brass has called her yet, inquiring as to whether or not I've made my move. I wonder… would she lie for me? Tell him that I've swept her off her feet… to leave her alone for a bit…

No. After today and these past three years, why would she? Why would she _ever_ cover for me?

I keep finding my hand wandering towards the abandoned cell phone. Calm down Gil, you're getting ahead of yourself.

The other hand is permanently occupied with a bottle of water. I've finished two in the time I've been lounging here thinking. Moping, rather. Pink Floyd is definitely music for thought, but I've been through Dark Side of the Moon three times, and the Wall is… not what I need to hear right now.

Could this ever really work out?

Scenario A:

I leave her alone. I sleep the night off, here on the couch. Brass calls her, convinces her to give up on me. She turns in a resignation form later this afternoon. I rip it up, she has to stay. Brass pitches a fit, goes straight to Cavallo, and I get fired. She has a job, I take the fall. She's still unhappy, but still employed and near me.

Scenario B:

I leave her alone. I drink the night off, watch the Discovery channel all day long. Brass calls her, tells her to leave. She resigns, and leaves town. I never see her again because she's returned to her family and friends in San Francisco.

Scenario C:

I call Sara. I talk and, God help me, plead for her to forgive my previous transgressions. This time I must let her through the wall I've built around myself. This wall will be the death of us both, I fear, should it not be destroyed. I invite her over here to discuss our situation further. She arrives, we drink coffee and I confess my heart, she returns my affection, and we live happily ever after.

Scenario D:

I call Sara. I clam up, like before. She hangs up on me, leaving me to feel like the complete idiot that I am. She resigns, leaves, see last part of Scenario B.

Which is the path of least resistance? Surely Scenario A because it involves me never leaving this couch (nice, comfy couch) until work again tonight. The most work is Scenario C, but it also promises the most rewards.

Unfortunately I can see that I've missed a few factors that would otherwise affect the outcome of the experiment. What about Brass's input? He said that if I didn't make my move by 7 AM, that he would take care of the situation himself. 7 AM has already come and gone, so theoretically all scenarios may be moot. Additionally, even if I rip apart her resignation letter, she may leave in outright indignation (that would be like my fiery girl).

So despite my careful assessment of all choices, risks, and results, I may not be able to accurately predict the outcome of this day.

That bothers me.

_Bzzzz Bzzzz. Bzzzz Bzzzz. Bzzzz Bzzzz._

Oh no. My cell phone is going off. Gotta turn down the Floyd!_ ::a pause::_

Damn! Whoever it is, they hung up. One missed call. Do I even want to see?

These butterflies in my gut are making it quite difficult to hold the phone still.

_Please please please…_

Sara. Shit. It's Sara and I missed the call. Or maybe it was Jim, at Sara's place, calling to tell me what a loser I am. Or maybe it _was_ Sara, calling to tell me that she was leaving Vegas forever!

I feel sick.

Well I guess that about wraps up my debate. She's probably already packing, writing the resignation letter, and calling her mother to tell her she's coming home.

_::a very long pause::_

You know what? Screw this. I've made conditions up in my head, whole situations that play themselves out without me doing a damn thing.

I can be a truly lame bastard at times.

Sometime I disgust myself, yes, but that doesn't mean I have to crawl into a hole and die. All I touch and all I see is all my life will ever be. I've heard those words every day for so long and never comprehended what they mean.

Some observant scientist I am… Where's the return call button on this thing?

Maybe it is worth it to take some shit if it means I get the woman I love! Have loved. Have loved for a long damn time.

It's ringing. Jesus! It's ringing, what do I say?

------------------------------------

He sat upright on the sofa, hunched over the side with the cell phone jammed to his ear. After the first complete ring, he started mumbling encouragements to both himself and Sara.

"You can't leave me Sara, I'm not ready to give up on this yet. I need you… Please, honey, pick up. Pick up for me."

The phone rang for an eternity. Grissom rubbed at his eyes viciously, pushing his glasses out of the way.

"Don't give up on me honey, please."

Halfway through his sentence, the other end sprung to life.

He leaned forward, straining to hear every word, every syllable she uttered. The first thing he caught was a yawn, then a rustling sound.

A sluggish yet bemused voice asked "Honey, please?"

TBC…

**Author's Note:** Next is 9, Sara's point of view. Sorry about the long delay folks, hopefully I'll find more time to write this semester. I'm writing right now mainly because we've had an ice storm and the power's out :X But I've found a constructive use of my time (at least until the laptop battery dies). Again, please R&R!!!


End file.
